


Bobbing for Apples

by Blue_Jay



Series: Remove All the Pieces + Prompts [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, Double Prompt, Dreamwalking, Episode: s01e01 Pilot, Episode: s01e09 Home, Episode: s02e01 In My Time of Dying, Episode: s02e15 Tall Tales, Episode: s03e11 Mystery Spot, Episode: s03e16 No Rest for the Wicked, Episode: s06e15 The French Mistake, Episode: s07e01 Meet the New Boss, Episode: s07e17 The Born-Again Identity, F/M, Food Issues, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Nightmares, POV Multiple, Post-Episode: s08e23 Sacrifice, Prompt Fic, Protective Dean Winchester, Psychic Abilities, Sam Winchester's Visions, Soulless Sam Winchester, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-21 16:02:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Jay/pseuds/Blue_Jay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean isn't sure if he's failing at being a brother, a parent, or both. Jessica and Bobby just want to help, but Castiel can't and John doesn't even know where to start.</p><p>It might've been easier if Azazel wasn't such a jerk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bobbing for Apples

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sunshine_and_Snow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunshine_and_Snow/gifts).



> I'm combining two prompts because they work well together. 
> 
> First is Sam's powers were more developed and enhanced than he realized.
> 
> Second focuses on how weird he is with food (which is something I actually picked up from the show, by the way, that didn't just come out of nowhere).
> 
> OH. Also, I follow a very "ship what you ship" philosophy, but personally writing RPF just feels awkward. But the French Mistake turned the boys into literal characters and this is a POV multiple fic, so there's going to be one tiny little section of it that I hope you all enjoy.

He's twelve and Sammy is eight on the day he wakes up to screaming and glass rain. 

Dad was supposed to be home yesterday but he wasn't and Dean had been waiting awake for him, so he's tired enough it takes him a moment to figure out what's happening. But he does soon enough and takes in the scene of Sam on the floor, lights exploding, and a giant spider embedded with glass the pillow next to the one his brother had been sleeping on. It's a ghost, he thinks stupidly even though he's never gone with his dad before and doesn't even know really how vengeful spirits act. He quickly gets his shit together and scrambles out of bed, picking up Sam and running out the room. 

His brother stops screaming immediately and Dean slides down the outside motel wall, Sammy on his lap, shaking. He can still hear the lights exploding inside and they're the furthest room on the end at seven in the morning so it's not like anyone else is around to check. He hears himself saying things like "it's okay" and "you'll be fine" even though he feels like he's lying. And Dean's very good at lying. 

Conveniently, the Impala pulls into the spot right outside the room and Dad scrambles out of the car. Jeez, he thinks even though he really shouldn't, not like you could come back on time.

When he sees what's going on, Dad's in front of them asking, "What happened?" Sam doesn't look up, keeping his face buried in Dean's shoulder. 

He explains, as well as he can when adrenaline is still making his mind run a mile a minute or however the saying goes, about the wolf spider and Sammy freaking out and the lights exploding. Dad hands him the keys so they can wait in the car and says he'll be right back before disappearing inside. Dean hears glass crunch under boots and does as told, picking up his brother and carrying him. The poor kid's shoulders won't stop shaking and he hasn't reacted to anything. Actually, Dean's kind of starting to freak out worse too and that's saying something. 

Lately he's been sitting shotgun, exercising his big brother rights, but now he slips into the back, making Sam move so he can actually sit down. A moment later he's back, clinging to his side. They stay this way - holding each other, quiet - before his brother suddenly says, "I did it," in such a small voice Dean almost doesn't hear him. 

"Do what?" he asks, confused and trying not to picture that big, hairy, dead spider on the pillow because that was just fucked up. 

"Broke all the lights," Sammy answers, curling up tighter. "Woke up and it was right there and I got really scared and then everything started breaking." He looks up, eyes obscured by his floppy hair. "Don't tell Dad."

We were going to tell him, he thinks because  _he_ found out when he was eight. So much for that. 

He watches Dad exit the room, duffle bags thrown over his shoulders. "You'll be fine, Sammy," Dean says, staring straight out the windshield. "Everything will be fine."

Years later, he'll realize that everything is pretty far from.

 

 

There's a beautiful woman with curly blonde hair and big blue eyes in a pink and white polka-dotted dress dancing around in a kitchen to a song Sam's never heard before. 

I swear, Sam, she's saying as she picks a chocolate chip straight out of the yellow plastic bag, you're the only guy I know who doesn't like food.

Now he's really confused because he  _does_ like food - or doesn't mind it anyway. It's not like he gets home cooked meals but he's never  _had_ home cooked meals so he’s got nothing to compare it with. "Who're you?" he asks instead because she looks about twenty and he's eleven and this is just really weird. Maybe one of those monsters Dad fights did something to him because this is strange even by his standards. And he has pretty high standards.

She laughs and says, Everyone likes homemade cookies, sweetie, which is definitely an answer to something other than his question. And I'm half-Italian, so you better get used to food. Eating's one of my favorite pastimes.

"Oh."

With a shrug, she turns around and dumps the chocolate chips into the batter. Cookies are awesome. Why wouldn't he like cookies? Again, he says, "Who are you?"

You're funny, Sam. She's smiling and the sunlight coming in from the window turns her curly blonde hair into a halo.

"No, but who  _are_ you?"

Then she freezes and the clock on the wall does too. He blinks and realizes this has to be a dream. Behind him a man's voice says, "Knew you'd get it eventually, kiddo."

He turns quickly, trying to catch who else is there but all of the sudden the floor opens up and the chair disappears and he's falling like Alice into fire instead of Wonderland and oh god, oh god, oh -

_Sammy, wake up!_

Sam wakes up in tears.

 

 

Bobby asks, "What happened to Sam?" and John wishes he had a better answer than, "I'm not sure."

His sons are in the living room watching _The Lion King_ on the Disney Channel, Dean trying to get his brother to eat some popcorn and Sam curled up in a ball so nothing hurts his bandaged feet. His youngest son's always had an abnormally high pain tolerance, but foot injuries are a bitch. John continues, "I came back from that hunt and found him like this. Dean says he tore up his feet on a run because the sneakers were new. I'll get him new ones when his feet heal."

"Yeah, can't imagine he'd have too much fun trying anything on," his friend says, taking a swig of beer. "That must've been a damn fast run to do that to his feet. Dean wasn't with him?"

"I guess not." Which isn't normal because even when he's there, his boys stick to each other like glue even though Sam's already twelve. He knows it should bother him that they aren't exactly learning independence, but the moment they split something like this seems to happen and, well, getting hurt on a hunt is one thing, but this is something completely different. 

And maybe he's trying to ignore the warning signs, but that's not a thought for right now. Bobby says, "Stay as long you'd like. Not like anything’s ever happening 'round these parts."

"Bobby, you live in South Dakota."

"You lived in Kansas."

"Yeah, I'm saying that's a hotspot for activity either, am I?"

His friend smiles and finishes the bottle. John grabs himself another too. In the other room, Sam finally takes a small handful. He really hopes this isn't turning into what it looks like.

 

 

Today they're in another diner called the Luncheonette, which seems like a pretty popular name. Sam orders a salad and doesn't finish it. Dean's starting to get really worried and he can't  _really_ tell because having school means they're most still stuck behind when a hunt comes on the radar, but he's pretty sure Dad's started to notice too. Seriously, what happened to the kid who'd ask for seconds? No wonder he's such a shrimp. 

The waitress comes by to collect the plates. "Do you want this wrapped?" she asks and Dad says that yeah, they do. Though he knows Sam will finish at some point later (or at least hopefully), he doesn't feel any better. Outside of the rare times he's sick, Dean hasn't not finished a meal since he was ten and Dad let him start ordering hamburgers. 

"Sorry," Sam says later when they're in the car, reading about a hunt the state over. "I don't feel well."

 _Well._ Thirteen and he's already got a hang up on the whole perfect grammar thing. He pushes his hand through his hair. Dean says, "I'll eat it if you don't want it."

"You hate lettuce."

He doesn't have an answer to that, so he just shrugs. "We'll fine a motel with a kitchen," Dad says. "You can put it in pasta or something."

And it's this that makes him think their dad knows something's up - kitchenettes are a little above their desired price range, but this is giving Sam a way out. Dean wishes he wasn't going this. Maybe then his brother would actually eat. 

Somehow, he knows it wouldn't matter. 

 

 

Sam is across from the janitor with the yellow eyes, standing next to a comatose Dean's hospital bed. "You've got to save him," he says, not sure why he's trying because he's noticed this guy isn't exactly a good person. "Please. He can't die."

The janitor twirls an old fashion gun between his fingers. "I can't save your brother's life without ending someone else's," he answers. 

"Then take mine," Sam says, close to hysterical now. "I can't live without him. There's no one else here, you have to do  _something._ "

"It's not your life I want."

He feels his nose crinkle in confusion. "Then whose?" he asks, vaguely wondering why his dream-self is so tall even though that's completely irrelevant. Dean dying also shouldn't be this big of a deal because he knows this isn't real, but the desperation is making this all come up like word vomit. 

The man smiles and Sam's reminded suddenly of that Animal Planet documentary he made Dean watch about wolves and hyenas. "John or Dean," he says. "Choose or no go. Big brother's dead and you're all alone."

"But -"

"Oh, if it weren't up to me, I'd kill your brother before those pesky angels can get to him." Even though he tries not to, he feels the first tears starting to slip out. Dad or Dean. Either way, it's family and he has to kill one of them. "Daddy already doesn't like you very much," the man adds. "Imagine what he'd do if the good son -"

"Dad," he says and it’s not because of that but because he can't live without his brother. Not without going nuts and he's not all there to begin with. "I don't care, just give Dean back."

Then two fingers touch his temple and he feels a jolt of fear run through his entire body.

"See you in ten years, Sammy."

 

 

Three hours after he gets a half-hysterical call from Sam asking if whiskey still works as a sterilizer the same way vodka or actual disinfect does, Bobby's phone goes off again. This time it's Dean and he thinks for about the hundredth time that the Winchester boys are fucking idiots. 

Any call that opens up with, " _Bobby, I can't get a hold of Dad,_ " is a bad one.

He grabs his keys, ready to run off to Minnesota where the boys are staying only two hours away. It's July and lately Sam and Dean were hunting just the two of them while John went solo. "Tell me what's going on," he says. 

" _Sam didn't tell me anything was wrong and passed out,_ " Dean answers quickly. " _I couldn't wake him up and I panicked and now we're at the hospital but the doctors are saying there's something wrong with his blood and fuck if I know what they're talking about. I said I was calling our dad._ "

"What're they saying?"

There's a beeping followed by a slight clanging sounding and he realizes the kid's calling from a payphone. Well, damn. " _He's got O negative but there's something 'unidentifiable' and the blood transplant thing might have complications but it's pretty much that or he dies of blood loss but I'm not his parent even though I'm family so I can't make a decision which is so fucking -_ "

"Which hospital?"

" _Aberdeen County Medical in Aberdeen, Minnesota._ "

It's not until he's on the road that he remembers he promised Rufus to man the phones, but quickly reminds himself that even his friend would say a bleeding out fifteen-year-old is a little more important. "Go to the waiting room," he tells Dean. "I'll be there as fast as I can."

Dean thanks him and Bobby pretends he doesn't hear that almost-sob when the boy hangs up. 

 

 

Not long after Sam turns sixteen, John finds out two things: one, what killed Mary is a demon and two, Sam was the original target. And damn if that doesn't hurt like hell. 

For a while he can't figure out why a demon would want to kill an infant who couldn't even walk, but a Wendigo hunt makes him realize that death might not have been the objective anyway. That he's been noticing it all along and hasn't wanted to. That maybe it's time he acknowledges that there's something seriously wrong with his younger son. 

He's halfway across the clearing, but he still catches the moment when Dean pushes his brother out of the way, ending up in line with a killing blow from the Wendigo. John fires the gun but the monster is too fast and Sam's on the ground, staring up at the thing with his wide eyes as Dean raises his own flare gun. But he doesn't have time to shoot and his brother's flew out of his hand when he was pushed and all John can think is his oldest son is going to die when Sam screams and the fading flare of his own shot suddenly bursts brighter and changes direction, hitting the Wendigo straight in the back, exploding and killing it before Dean could get so much as a scratch. 

Then Sam's up, clinging to his brother who practically collapses backwards. Neither of them noticed, but John did. He has a flash of all those random blackout in motels if he and his son got into too explosive of an argument, or the number of flukes they've had on hunts that stopped Dean from being injured or that one time Sam got when he got sick -  _really_ sick, not those lies of "I don't feel well" so he won't have to eat - and the shower turned on itself. 

He sinks to the ground where he stands and wishes he hadn't seen that. Not now. Not so soon after he found out about Mary.

 

 

 

"I said no, okay?"

"Why?"

"I have a migraine."

They're in New York, not far outside the City, and the lights are all off. On the table are unfinished math homework and an empty mug Dean's guessing held coffee at some point. "Did you eat anything today?" he asks because he's noticed a pattern - Sam doesn't get food, Sam drinks a lot of coffee, Sam gets a headache. Like clockwork. 

His brother curls up on his side, facing away from the window. Away from Dean. "Can't remember."

Holding back a sigh, he points out, "Which means nothing. I thought we talked about this, Sam."

"M'not hungry," Sam says. "Wanna sleep."

Being left behind for the third hunt in a row has left him irritable and not in the mood to deal with this. When he was sixteen, he'd never been this bad. Ever. "Well I got you soup," he says. "Chicken noodle. Eat. Then you can sleep."

"But -"

" _Sam._ "

After a moment of silence, his brother finally pushes himself up. Dean pulls the curtains a little tighter shut before grabbing a spoon, uncapping the soup, and bringing it over to the bed. Honestly, he doesn't get it. One second Sam'll be all happy and snarky and the next he'll plummet into...this. Normally it's because something Dad says, but Dad hasn't been here in a week and Dean can't think of anything that would've set him off. Hell, he hasn't even cracked a smile since yesterday afternoon. 

As he starts to actually fucking eat, he says, "I'm not kidding. I'm really tired."

Yeah, Dean thinks. That's because your blood sugar's dropped too low. "That'll make you feel better," he says. "At least it's warm, right?"

"Right," Sam answers, completely unenthusiastic, but he's eating. According to him, it's not that he's  _avoiding_ eating and more like he  _forgets_ to eat. Dean thinks this is bullshit but he loves food so he doesn't understand it either way. And his brother's always been a little odd; it's just gotten worse over the past few years. "I think the cold's what caused the headache."

He makes a noise that he thinks is supposed to mean agreement and the two sit together on the bed, knees and shoulders touching, until his brother hits the point where he can't eat anymore. Sam promises to finish it tomorrow, which he believes, and heads into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Dean puts the soup in the mini-fridge and goes to bed too. 

 

 

With the exception of visiting Pastor Jim, Sam's only been in a church twice. He doesn't recognize this one.

He's with Dean, of course (he always is), and there's a priest across from him who's explaining...something. Sam can't actually tell because everything sounds muffled and vague like he's under water. Then, clearly, he hears himself ask, "Father, that's Michael, right?" as he points to his brother - or, no, there's a picture. A picture of an angel he's seen once or twice but it's not quite in line with his finger.

He quickly drops his hand. 

With his forehead creasing in confusing, priest says, How did you know? with his voice still muffled and the words garbled and Dean's not talking.

Now he's confused too because last he checked, that painting's kind of famous. I had an art history class in college, he thinks, even though he's too young for college and probably won't go anyway. Dad won't let him. 

He says he's seen the picture before. 

Oh, I would hope so, answers the priest. You are the one who took it after all. 

Again, he turns to look but the painting is gone. In its place is a photo of Dean sitting on the hood of the Impala, legs out stretched and resting on the cooler. It's a candid and he doesn't notice the picture is being taken at all, and the beer is touching his lips, half tilted to take a sip. Sam's got no talent with a camera but liked the way it turned out. "That's my brother, not an angel," he says with a frown. 

Finally Dean starts talking but his words are soundless as the priest moves to stand directly next to Sam. Look closer, he tells him, sometimes we don't see everything at once. 

So he does, even though he feels foolish and - well, he's pretty sure that shadow wasn't there to begin with, the symmetrical ones extending from his brother's back, resembling three wings on either side. He's the archangel Michael, the priest says. He just doesn't know it yet. 

Then the photo starts morphing, changing, the shadows of the wings growing until everything inside the frame is pitch black and just expanding further until it covers the room. Dean is fading, the priest is swallowed by darkness and above him is a thunderstorm flashing across a starless sky filled with bruising clouds and a woman is with him on a ground of jagged rock with brown hair and a red jacket saying, Michael will ride your brother's soul like a whore if you don't get your ass down here first. There's more than one way to save the world. 

"This isn't what I'd call saving," Sam says and the woman laughs.

 

 

John can count on one hand the number of fights he's ever gotten into with Dean, and that includes when he was kid and Mary was still alive when he used to beg for just a couple more pages of the story before he went to sleep well past his bedtime. With, Sam, when are they ever  _not_ fighting? And right now, he's pretty sure this is the worst. 

Now his son's gone, off to Stanford where John can't protect him - not from monsters or the demon after his ass or himself - and as pissed as he is, he's worried too. Dean's better, always has been, but that doesn't mean he's clueless and he's already trying to figure out how he'll be able to check up on Sammy without the kid noticing. Just to make sure he's  _alive_ for god’s sake. Or not in some sort of trouble, he adds in his head as he opens the cabinet for the liquor he has in there and finds every bottle destroyed. Clean breaks too, which means Sam did accidently. 

Goddammit.

He sits down heavily in the chair and looks at the crack in the table. Sam's got a quick temper (though he never gets in fights with Dean or anyone else really) and if he does damage like this to an abandoned house...well, John doesn't even want to think about what he could do to an entire dorm building if he gets stressed out. Maybe there's some way to stop this, but it's not like he can ask anyone; telling another hunter his boy can cut the power of a motel because he's an idiot who forgot to eat and won't stop throwing up stomach acid might get him killed. For now at least, he doesn't even want to  _think_ about that. Sam's eighteen, just a kid with a few not-so-normal teenage boy issues both supernatural and not, and John pretends it hasn't crossed his mind too when he finds demonic activity too close to where his sons are staying and knows it's all those problems in the head that might make him a little too easy to manipulate.

Then he realizes he's a fucking idiot. As long as Sam has Dean, he'll be fine.

With a sigh, he decides this isn't something he wants to be sober for. He stands, grabs his jacket, and heads out the door. Everything will clearer in the morning.

Or so he tells himself.

 

 

On a Thursday, Sam has a dream his roommate has solid black eyes and a medical degree. He wakes with a shout and Brady talks him down until he can think straight again. 

It isn't until morning that he realizes he scratched open his left arm. 

 

 

What starts out as his rare but typical dream of Dean comatose in the hospital after a car crash as Sam fights with his dad suddenly morphs into invisible dogs digging into his brother's chest and screams of pain worse than that time a ruguru stabbed him right next to his shoulder blade. He's struggling but pinned to a wall and yelling at someone to stop but he's got tunnel vision that can only see blood and the agony painted across Dean's face. He never thought he'd miss watching his brother then his dad die in an anonymous hospital, but that's exactly what happening. 

Then, from next to him, "I like this body. It's all grown up and pretty."

Sam starts crying as Dean goes still and there's a blonde chick in front of him with white eyes. He wants his brother, he wants Bobby, he wants his Dad, fuck it, he wants  _himself_ because the woman's forcing her mouth against his and he hasn't been kissed since his prom. He knows, objectively, that this is a dream, but it doesn't make it any better. 

I want Dean, he thinks. I want Dean I want Dean I want -

But Dean isn't here.

 

 

For their first date, they go to the movies. For their second, they go to the park and he buys her ice cream because Sam's a perceptive bastard and noticed her looking. By their fifth date, Jess can't help but ask, "Why do we never go out to eat?"

They're at the fall carnival held in that park because she managed to convince him to go after about an hour. She's got funnel cake she refused to let him buy for her because she has more money and all he has a water even though she offered. For a moment there she thought it was his attempt at being chivalrous because he's dangerously polite but scraps that idea pretty quickly; she's never actually seen him eat. 

"I thought going out to eat was a dinner thing and we've really only gone out during the day," he says and actually, he has a point there. "I don't know, I've never really been on a date before."

She can't really believe this because he's hot and tall and so damn sweet she thinks she might already be falling in love here, but there's no reason he would lie. And he talks to rarely about himself that she snags onto this little piece of information she can get. "How about tomorrow night?" she says. "I'll pay."

"No, you don't have to," he says quickly, biting his bottom lip. "And tomorrow I've is Friday so -"

"You have to make sure our once straight edge friend doesn't get himself killed?" Sam nods. "You know, it isn't your job to take care of him."

He smiles weakly. "I'm used to it," he tells her, which doesn't sound good. "How about next Thursday?"

"Study group, remember?"

"Oh. I'm sure we'll figure out something."

Jess has a feeling he's purposely avoiding this, though she has no reason to. And she always promised herself that she'd never be the type of girl to date someone who's "damaged," but she decides to keep her eye out anyway. Because she knows already that Sam is worth it. 

 

 

Eventually Sam admits that he just doesn't like eating because he doesn't really taste anything. She's a psych major and taking a course on a abuse; not long later they get to a unit about food and he fits the signs of past negligence so perfectly it's actually kind of scary. 

From there she look for certain signs more specifically and unfortunately finds them - discomfort at physical contact, clearly has anxiety attacks and nightmares, his living area is spotless and has no sign of anything personal, easily agitated towards messy situations, ducks out of anything more intimate than kissing, and can turn on and off how well he shows whatever he's feeling. When she invites him over the Thanksgiving because they’re dating (and he has nowhere else to go), she gives her parents a call. Her dad's the type to joke "hurt my baby girl and I'll kill you" and she doesn't know how well Sam would react that that. And she's steadily been getting him to eat like a normal person more and more but that might not stand if he's nervous and she doesn't want her mom to think he doesn't like her cooking. 

Dad says he'll make sure not the freak the kid out. Mom says she can't wait to meet him. Jess is just relieved that something might go right for once. 

 

 

Around the three month dating mark, it takes two tries at sex to figure out exactly why her boyfriend's so fucked up and that maybe she was wrong about the whole abuse thing, and three attempts before it finally actually happens. The first time they start getting that serious is a heat of the moment kind of thing followed by one of the biggest bad luck moments she's ever had in her life. Which is saying something since she’s such a klutz.

It happens like this: her hand slides under his shirt, he pulls away with a look of pure panic on his face, the lights go out, and the window of the dorm room suddenly flies open. She screams and Sam catches her before she can fall off the bed. 

For a moment, neither of them says anything because once she gets her bearings this is actually really awkward, but that's broken by a knock on the door. "I thought we had a generator," she says as Sam climbs over to her and heads to the door. 

"So did I," he says and pulls it open. Becca standing outside and the hall is dark too. "Hey."

"Sorry, too dark to see the right key," her roommate says, letting herself in. "I heard you scream."

If anything, the awkward tension rises. "Yeah, well, the lights kind of went out," she answers, knowing she sounds like an idiot. "What's going on?"

Becca's hair is bright in the darkness. Sam shuts the door. "It's just this building I think. Luis' room has a view of the rest of campus and it's normal."

"Our window also opened itself," she adds and her eyes are adjusted enough to see the way her boyfriend's shoulders tighten. "Why hasn't the generator turned on?"

"Who do I look like, an electrician? Fuck if I know."

Then Sam's hand is on the door knob again and he shoots her a quick smile before saying, "I left my laptop charging. Better unplug it before the power goes back on and fries it. I'll be right back."

He leaves and Becca walks over to the window, shutting it. Lights going out are one thing, but  _that_ makes her feel like she's caught in the beginning of a shitty horror movie. She says this and her friend laughs, but doesn't disagree. Not long later Sam comes back as promised. 

Someone comes and fixes the power in the morning and Jess tries to forget about the window. 

 

 

Sam's in the kitchen watching his girlfriend make cookies in that pink dress of hers. He's lived this already back when they first started dating and she actually did manage to get him to like something for once. But there's something more than that, something that just seems, well, wrong. 

Jess smiles. You're funny, Sam, she says and there's sunlight streaming through the window. For some reason he remembers asking who she is even though that makes no sense because that's not what he said. His head hurts. She asks, Do you smell something burning?

Suddenly he does and he's lying down instead of sitting, eating one of those cookies. Something's dripping on his forehead, sticky and familiar. Do you smell something burning? she'd asked. And he does. But it's not food burning in a preheated oven - something else familiar, a decomposing body in a grave with flames liking at left over hair. He twitches and opens his eyes. 

He has this dream every night for two weeks. 

 

 

It's been four years since Sam went to college and two since they last saw each other. But that doesn't mean Dean still can't tell something's wrong with his brother. 

To be fair, it isn't entirely difficult to figure out this time around. Pretty much every time he sleeps Sam has a nightmare, which means he's constantly exhausted, and he's barely eating. He seemed healthier right after Dean got him from Stanford and he said it was because of Jess. That's the first and last time they've really talked about her since then. Now the kid's just sort of wasting away and he wonders where he's going wrong that someone else figured it out. 

Then, the bomb drops: "I dreamt about Jessica's death days before it happened."

Maybe he doesn't know Sam as well as he thought.

 

 

The two of them are fighting again, this time about Dad because Sam doesn't see the logic of letting him leave after searching for them for so long. And, okay, maybe Dean was a little annoyed about whole situation but now he's pissed, irritation through the roof, because his baby just stalled  _for absolutely no reason._

Sam's leaning against the passenger side window, arms crossed and scowling. "There's gotta be something."

"Yeah, well, there isn't," Dean answers, trying not to slam the hood. "Full tank of gas, changed the oil last week, everything's in working order...she just sort of stopped."

"Who knows," his brother says with a note of sarcasm, "maybe the demon had something to do with it."

He pauses. "That's not funny."

"It's a little funny."

But it's not, not really because Dean can't stop thinking about how Dad would react if he knew. What's going on with Sam isn't normal. Actually, pretty much nothing about Sam is normal, but this is just a really, really bad one. He sees visions. He managed to make a dresser move on its own. 

Sometimes Dean needs to remind himself that this isn't some fever dream. 

Even when he wishes it was. 

As he pulls open the car door, he tells his brother, "I'm going to try to start her again."

Sam nods but doesn't answer and gets in too. For whatever reason, Dean isn't even a little surprised when his baby works fine at one try after five desperate attempts and a scramble to find out what's wrong. "Awesome," he mumbles and Sam rolls down his window, leaning his elbow against the edge. They don't talk for a long time. 

 

 

The entire hospital is empty except for him and the janitor with the yellow eyes. The Yellow-Eyed Demon. The thing that's been haunting his family for twenty-two years.

With a smile, the demon says, "Should've killed me when you had the chance, Sammy-boy."

He wishes he had the Colt so he could shoot the dick in the face, but they haven't seen a sign of the thing and he can't do much in a dream either. "Yeah, wasn't too hot on the idea of killing my dad," he answers, wondering why he even bothers talking back by this point. 

"Yet here we are." The demon spreads his hands, indicating the rest of the room. It's silent other than their voices. "You're here, Dean's here, and Daddy's gone. Just like we agreed."

Though he knew on a certain level that his dad must've made a deal, it still hits hard. 

He doesn't answer. 

Then, almost casually, "Oh, don't give all the credit there to John. Never would've accepted his bargain if it weren't for our deal."

"What're you -"

But he remembers, then, all that way back into childhood when the dreams about Dean dying in a hospital from a car crash all started, making a deal with a janitor -  _choose or no go_ \- twirling the Colt in his hand. See you in ten years, he'd said and now here they are, ten years later when he's twenty-three and Dad's been dead for a day. 

"So it's my fault he's dead," he says, more resigned than appalled because isn't this how it always turns out? "Good to know."

 "Great destinies require great -"

Sam wakes up and doesn't remember the dream.

 

 

After the Trickster and splitting with Bobby, the boys make it up to each other with makeup sex that leaves Sam practically in tears from teasing. Dean feels accomplished. "Sorry for being a dick," he says, brushing his brother's hair off his face. "Should've known you didn't fuck with the car."

Sam presses his face again the junction between neck and shoulder. Voice muffled, he says, "Should've known you wouldn't do anything to my computer."

There's something else nagging at him too, something he doesn't really want to talk about, but he has to ask. "Do you seriously think I'm like that?" he says, trailing his fingers absentmindedly across his brother's back. Sam shivers. "I mean, I wasn't  _really_ flirting with that chick."

"No, I know, I was just pissed," he says quickly. Then, after a pause, "Though I seriously wish you didn't eat in bed."

He cringes a little at that because yeah, that was kind of a dick move. "Sorry," he repeats. "Also, I really did only eat like two. Not eight or whatever." He almost cracks a joke about being able to fit all that in the mouth, Sam should know and all, but he doesn't think his brother will appreciate that.

"Perception difference I guess," Sam answers and yawns. He doesn't really get his brother's hang up on food - he'll still eat and a lot of times almost like a normal person even, but Dean's really pretty sure Sam is exaggerating his eating habits. And that's kind of weird. "I'm tired."

"Then go to sleep."

Eventually, he does. Dean drifts off soon after. 

 

 

"You're going to die  _today_ , Dean," Sam says and it's only eight in the morning so he's too tired to deal with one of his brother's panic attacks. "I can't do this anymore, so  _no_ , you're staying right there in bed and not moving for a whole twenty-four hours, okay?"

Dean's not entirely sure he believes him, but Sam's not  _that_ nuts so he figures it must be something. Not eating for twenty-fours sucks, but apparently he keeps choking on food. Like  _Groundhog's Day_ but worse, his brother says. "So, what, does this have to do with the Mystery Spot?"

"That's the thing, Dean," he says. "I don't  _know._ I've done everything to that place and nothing's worked. Just you keep dying and I keep waking up to 'Heat of the Moment' and I've had  _sixty-seven Tuesdays._ "

Even though he calls his brother a girl a lot, he hasn't actually seen him cry all that often, so Sam on the verge of tears? Yeah, not cool. "Fine," he says, reaching down to undo his boots. "I won't leave."

"No, not just 'not leave,'" he insists. "I mean, doing nothing. You can't move. You can't sleep. You aren't going to eat. You're just going to stay awake and be bored out of your mind and then at midnight we can go to sleep and I'll wake up to it being Wednesday, okay? I just want it to be Wednesday but it's never Wednesday and -"

Sam's getting more and more worked up and Dean barely has time to register the moment the motel blows up. 

 

 

On a Thursday night, Sam dreams again about Dean being torn to shred by invisible dogs. When it finally happens and he's leaning over his brother's ripped up body, the town's power goes out.

Bobby says it must have been the demon and later Sam will forget the period of time where he says it was him.

 

 

A chaotic mix of Dean's death and the constant, accidental use of own power leaves Sam Winchester half-insane and easy to manipulate. It really doesn't take much of an effort to convince the kid and his bleeding heart that yes, she's still on his side and  _yes,_ together they can get his brother back. With the only demon who would willingly go to bat for him out of the way (she pretends she doesn't believe Azazel's daughter's threat even though she knows that if anyone could do it, it would be her), Ruby quickly solidifies herself as an ally and shows him how to control all the raw power that's been circulating through his bloodstream for years. 

Not she tells him that, of course. The plan's pretty simple at the core - get him addicted and high so he's more compliant, make him think he  _needs_ more - and that won't work if he finds out the demon blood is more a muzzle than an assistance in the end. But he won't and she'll string him along with the reassurance of, we'll get your brother back, until they're done. 

Then the angels come, and the plan falls to pieces. 

 

 

Two months after he returns, Dean says, "We should go see a movie," because he's never taken Sam on an actual date ever and that's sappy as fuck but screw it, he came back from Hell and his brother's here and alive and they're both pretending they don't like to cuddle. Which he totally doesn't, of course. 

Sam looks up at him. It's his turn to clean the guns, which lately he hasn't been complaining about so much because if possible he's even more OCD than he was six months ago, and Dean just spent half an hour on the phone with Bobby. "You're serious," he says, sounding doubtful.

With a shrug, he answers, "Why not? Gotta be something good out."

"And if there's not?"

He hadn't thought that far ahead. "Then we get a movie and bring it here," he says. "C'mon, it's snowing outside and we aren't on a hunt."

For a moment, Sam just stares at him blankly. There's been something wrong with him lately. Or, more so than before Dean left anyway and he was pretty fucked up already. "Let me guess," he says, "popcorn and candy too?"

"If you want."

Now Sam shrugs. "Sure," he answers, taking Dean by surprise. "If you get licorice, though, I might have to kill you."

He smiles. "Deal."

Being alive really is kind of awesome.

 

 

He's stuck in a room with no doors and invisible walls surrounded by his family and friends - Mom, Dad, Bobby, Dean,  _himself_ \- and it's just so, so loud. He tries to move but his arms are immobile behind him and no no no no  _no,_ this can't be real, it can't, because even though he's stupid and he's worthless just the boy with the demon blood but no no no, Dean would  _never_ say that they aren't brothers despite that he really should sometimes but -

Then there's Castiel in front of him, head cocked to one side, not touching of course ("Sam Winchester, boy with the demon blood") because, Hell, he doesn't even want to touch himself by this point and says, You need to wake up.

 

 

So the kid ate like a normal person for seven months and it turns out it's because he spent most of the type hyped up on demon blood. 

Or that's what Dean's thinking anyway the day after he finds out about the hunters and those suicide attempts as he looks down at his brother, who's wearing a long-sleeved shirt but nothing over or under it. He looks like he lost weight. Even through the shirt, the ridges of his spine are there enough to be noticeable if you're looking. He's hunched over a book, shoulders curled in and Dean thinks, you just turned twenty-six, Sammy, this wasn't supposed to be your life.

He's quickly broken out this train of thought when Sam says, "Dude, you're staring," with that edge to his voice that means  _what freaky thing did I do this time?_

Dean really hates that he thinks that way and, even worse, that he hasn't really done much to convince his brother otherwise lately. Apparently suicide puts everything in perspective. "We're going out to eat," he says, slipping on his jacket. 

"I'm not hungry." Sam doesn't look up.

After fourteen years, this response doesn't really faze him anymore. "You're coming too," he says. "Come on, we'll go somewhere nicer than a diner, okay?" Maybe if they put something better than one of those droopy salads into the kid, he'll actually enjoy something when he's still all...himself. 

His brother puts down his book. "Fine," he answers, which is quicker and easier than Dean thought it would be. "Where?"

He shrugs. "We'll drive around until we find something."

"Okay."

He tosses Sam his jacket and thinks that maybe they can get this to work.

 

 

Apparently the boys crashed a mental hospital. Sometimes Bobby seriously wonders how these two are still alive. Also why their luck is so damn bad.

Because of the chair, he can't go downstairs anymore but he's waiting near the door to find out what's been going on. It would probably be faster if Sam was down there with his brother too, but he's still half-high on whatever the wraith gave him and the hospital doctors, so Dean made him stay upstairs. Not that Bobby's complaining exactly; once the lights went out, the boy was just done for. How jittery he was acting beforehand definitely hadn't helped. 

From below, he hears a clang followed by a yelp of pain. Damn idjits will be the -

"You think he needs help with anything?"

Sometimes it still catches him by surprise how quiet someone as tall as Sam can really be. He turns around. "I think you brother can handle it," he answers because the kid's pupils are still too wide. According to Dean, the wraith tied him up and he knows his boy; that couldn't have been good. 

Then, catching him off guard, Sam says, "M'sorry."

"For what?" he asks because he hasn't exactly done anything recent. Or - oh. This must be about Ellen and Jo now that he lost his brain to mouth filter and Dean isn't here. Now, those were real good people who deserved a lot better send-off, but the kid's got stop blaming himself for everything. "That ain't your fault."

He shakes his head. "No, it is," he says. "I don't mean to do. It just happens sometimes."

Bobby feels his brow creasing. "What're you on about, boy?"

Waving his hand vaguely, Sam answers, "The lights. Didn't mean to black out. They'll turn on eventually."

"Pass that by me again."

Sam rests his head on his arms, hiding part of his face and shadowing the eye that's visible. "Dean doesn't notice," he explains and Bobby thinks back to that year and a half ago when Dean died and all those lights exploded - it was me, it was me, Bobby, I'm scared - and feels sick. "Dad knew. Didn't say it, but he knew. S'why he told Dean to kill me. Should'a. Promised me."

Oh for the love of God, these two will be death of him. "Thought you said all that went away."

Again, Sam shakes his head. "M'not clean. Won't really go away 'til I'm clean and that's not gonna happen. Everyone says. Angels won't even touch me. Helped up Cas without thinking."

"Listen here," he says and words aren't his strong point but this is scaring him, "these are just lights, doesn't matter if they go out for a few hours. This ain't your fault, it was forced on you and -"

"Bobby, I ended the  _world._ "

"And we'll damn well fix it."

"I'll screw it up. Somehow. Don't mean to - swear."

He sighs. "We've made it this far, kid."

Sam twists his head and now face is fully hidden. Still, that doesn't stop him from clearly hearing the very quietly said words, "I break everything I touch."

The phrase smacks him hard and Dean's back upstairs before he can come up with a reply.

 

 

Unfortunately, it takes him longer than he wants to admit that the Sam he has next to him isn't his Sammy. Even more unfortunate is that since he figured it out before after the whole demon blood train wreck, the biggest tip off that gets him at least suspicious is that this Sam is actually  _eating._

Goddamn how bad he's fucked up his baby brother. And goddamn how much the kid gets fucked over. 

But he can fix this, one step at a time, and does.

 

 

Though Dean wants to baby him so damn bad - eat something, Sammy, get a good night's sleep, Sammy, I'm your big brother and you have to listen to me - he refrains. Even if Sam fails and Lucifer takes a hold too strong for him to break, this is still going to be his last night alive. And they should spend it the way he wants to. Which apparently means some seriously cuddling. 

Dean's not complaining. 

They don't talk, which is a good thing because he's pretty sure if he opens his mouth right now he'll start crying that's about the last thing his brother needs, but he holds him tight enough that they only way they could closer is if they were the same person. Ash said they share the same soul when they went on that disaster run in Heaven, though, and isn't that practically the same thing? Yeah, it really is, he thinks. Which means his soul is going to fucking  _bleed_ when this over, whatever the result. 

Actually, he knows the result. Because his mind is his own worst enemy and suddenly he remembers this:

_Being a vessel is like being strapped to comet._

No matter what happens, Sammy's still going to Hell.

 

 

Just because he doesn't  _need_ to sleep doesn't mean he  _can't_ and Sam decides to try because even if his feelings seem muted, staying awake all the time is boring as fuck. Even his old insomnia doesn't compare.

And, like this, he finds himself in a warehouse or something similar, and Hell (which he  _remembers_ so fucking clear) is fitting over everything like a sheer film. Castiel is declaring himself God as his face peels apart and Bobby's kneeling while Dean's begging, which isn't a very Dean-like thing to do. There's blood splattered over the floor and wall and he can't tell if that's Hell or real life and, oh, Lucifer is behind him saying, this is the Cage, but Sam doesn't remember this and he remembers every minute of his fifty years downstairs, body and all. 

Then there's an angel blade in his hand, slid in tight even though he hadn't bent down to pick it up. His nose is bleeding. Black ooze is bleeding from the angel's head. He thinks, No, this is not a smart decision _,_ but his hand moves of its own accord. The blade slides through Jimmy Novak's lower spine and Sam's old wound burns in sympathy. 

Castiel doesn't die. Sam wakes up, heartbeat faster than it should be in his resting state and he doesn't really feel the fear as severely as would make sense. 

He decides boring isn't all that bad. 

 

 

Yeah, Dean's kind of pissed. That Sam didn't have a soul and decided not to tell him until now. But now he's unconscious in the panic room (again, this isn't a habit anyone likes) and it hits him that fuck, his brother will probably remember him tying him to a chair after him knocking out and, oh yeah,  _giving Cas permission to stick a hand through his body._ Fuck, he thinks, looking down at the prone body. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Sam and being tied up are not a good mix. Haven't been since the kid was fourteen and he was tied up for a second time. And, sure, it was for his own good but the whole knocking him out first thing isn't going to lead to a pretty conversation. Hopefully that won't crack the incredible fragile Wall either because Death promised that he'd block Hell out but that the quick fix isn't a sure thing. And Dean knows torture. If Sam went through anything like he did (and, honestly, it's the fucking Cage with two pissed off archangels, comparing two versions of Hell is pretty fucking stupid because he's positive that his brother went through worse) then he had someone's arm forced inside of him at least once. 

I screwed up, he wants to tell Bobby but he doesn't because saying it won't solve anything and the whole trying-to-kill-him thing was only two days ago. I screwed up real bad.

And he's not the praying type, but sometimes it slips out anyway.

 

 

Honestly, it doesn't take as long as it probably should've for he and Jensen to figure out they switched places with their characters. And not their entire characters either; Jared's pretty sure he doesn't have scars on his wrists and left arm, or the anti-possession tattoo, and Jensen's got a barely noticeable one on his neck that looks like a bite mark. He never in a thousand years thought he'd be standing in Bobby Singer's (partially destroyed) living room, but here he is anyway. Normally he'd be excited and curious once he gets over his fear and shock because seriously, not many actors probably get this insane opportunity, but all that is kind of obscured by the splitting pain in his head right now.

Originally he was planning on helping move all the books out of the way from the rain (they might as well do something since they can't exactly leave and drive around an alternate universe or whatever the fuck this is), but quickly finds himself sitting down at Bobby's desk, rubbing his temple. "You hit you elbow not your head," Jensen says, but without that edge of annoyance they've been using around each other recently. 

God, they're just such a mess by now. 

"Maybe Sam did," he answers and that's not a sentence that should exist. "This is ridiculous. It feels like something's lodged somewhere in here."

"Well he does get hit on the head a lot."

Yeah, yeah he does - to the point some of the fans get irritated, even. Funny how it happens to be true. He wonders what else is, too, and what's different because he'd always  _thought_ his character (or, well, just Sam now) probably tried to kill himself after the whole Lucifer debacle, but the show never addressed it (the show never addresses a lot of things that involve Sam) and it's too hard for the make-up department to keep up with all the scars they'd probably have anyway. He's also pretty sure Sam's not supposed to be this skinny either, especially if the time line matches up and this is post-soulless -

Oh. Oh shit. "Hey, Jensen, think the Wall is just in Sam's mind or a weird separate-ish thing?"

He sees his...something (because they aren't friends anymore, not really, but maybe, just maybe, this could fix it and fuck it, Jared's not complaining if it does) freeze. Then, "No, you don't think?"

"This isn't a normal headache."

Jensen comes over and sits across from him, but the movement is much less Ackles and more Winchester. They've both read the script for the final episode. "We should, uh, figure out something to do. So you don't scratch, or whatever."

And it's awkward because this is practically a relationship fix-it, but eventually they decide to figure out what's real and what isn't on Sam's computer. Jared thinks it's a little weird that they decide on Ghostfacers videos, but the pain in his head dulls when Jensen elbows him in the side and laughs like they're friends again. He wonders if this is how Sam feels on a daily basis.

 

 

Neither of them really knew Rufus, which means it hurts like a bitch to lose another hunter, but Dean still manages to fall asleep anyway. Or does until his brother is suddenly a shivering mess right next to him. He grabs him, pulls him close instinctively and I saw Bobby die, Sam says, voice wrecked, He was shot in the head and then he died and I couldn't do anything. 

The clock next to the bed says it's four in the morning. "It's just a dream, Sammy," he tells his brother, running his fingers through his hair in an effort to calm him down. "Bobby made it through, remember?"

But Sam's shaking his head, suddenly crying which never happens ever, and tries to saying that comes out in an incoherent jumble. Dean gives him kiss and when that doesn't calm him down, stays awake until his little brother is too exhausted to do anything other than sleep.

 

 

The first night in Rufus' old cabin when Dean is still knocked out from painkillers and Bobby's helping in Sam's effort not to lose reality, he almost needs to put out several fires.

Since this place hadn't been used in a while, the electricity was off when they first arrived and he stopped before turning it back on because if the kid could blow the power in his house as an over-medicated mess, Bobby doesn't even think about what he can do like this. But at the same time it's February and  _cold_ , so he lights about a dozen candles and sets up the fire place. But apparently Sam can affect fire, too, because one second they're all the way to dying out after several hours and the next a hallucination of Lucifer comes along and every flame shoots up by about a foot. 

Dean still doesn't wake up. 

"Hey, hey, Sam," he says, trying not to get too close in case the kid doesn't realize who it is. He's pressing down on the scar on his hand, eyes screwed shut and mumbling Enochian. "I need you to focus, all right?"

And he does, sort of, cracking on eye open and then both. Some tension leaves his shoulders. The flames go back down to a normal height and Bobby knows it won't always be this easy. 

Maybe it's time he finally tells Dean.

 

 

He never does.

 

 

So Sam's eating even less than usual, but Dean would too if he kept seeing bugs in his sandwich. But that doesn't eating nothing is a good alternative and he's already losing weight again.

"Bobby got you salad," he says, dropping in next to his brother who's sitting cross-legged on one of the electric blankets they got for the latest abandoned house. At least this one has power, and that's about the only thing they've been lucky with lately; it seems like the only times they get electricity is when his brother's acting jumpy, which usually also means they can have hot showers and more than once he's had to shove Sam under the spray so he can ground himself again. 

He looks down at the food, unenthusiastic. Dean hands him the fork. "Okay."

You haven't eaten in three days, he wants to say but doesn't. Most of the time he's just relieved he can get Sam to drink water or coffee. "How're you feeling?"

"Dean."

Normally he'd drop it, but Sam's rubbing the side of his nose which usually comes right before it starts bleeding. Fucking Cas. "Humor me."

"I'm fine," he answers and that's bullshit. They both know it is. When he adds, "I haven't seen Lucifer in about two days," though, Dean believes him. And to his relief, he actually starts eating too. Earlier he was about as jumpy as usual, but this is Maine in early April and Sam doesn't mix with cold all that well. "Where's Bobby? And what about you?"

"Already ate," he answers, which is true because he didn't feel like putting his brother anywhere near a hamburger. "I don't know where he is."

Sam nods and stabs at the lettuce. "Can we find a hunt in Florida or something? Or just go to Florida?" he asks. "I don't like snow."

After Dean agrees, he gets a full smile that he hasn't seen in ages.

 

 

_He was shot in the head and then he died and I couldn't save him._

Dean thought his brother's visions were as gone as he thought.

 

 

"Hey, Sammy, show me your hands."

Though he's obviously exhausted and about to drop off, his brother complies, holding out his hands. While he checked Sam out AMA by threatening to sue for the whole electrocution thing, Dean snagged his files. Earlier in the car he'd also mumbled something about helping out a chick named Marin and how the ghost made the lights explode so they tried to sedate him, but a quick check of hospital records showed that Marin didn't exist. The file says Sam broke the lights, but Cas hadn't healed him physically - just stopped his brain from being fired. 

If he'd really broken the lights, his hands would show it; the skin is unbroken. "You know that girl didn't exist, right?" Dean asks and Sam's eyes drift upwards. For the millionth fucking time, he'd almost lost him again.

After they end the Leviathan, that's it. They're done, out of hunting, he doesn't even know if he can do it, but fuck that. Cas might've taken the insanity on himself or whatever, but Sam's had issues long before the Cage and Dean'll do what he has to if it means keeping him alive. The general realization over the past few months that the whole psychic thing isn't exactly patched up just makes it worse. 

When Sam doesn't answer right away, Dean looks down and finds his brother asleep, their hands still tangled together. It's girly, but he'll allow it just this once.

 

 

After Dean came back from 1944, Jody made the boys keep her down as an I.C.E. contact for every new phone they got. Since then, they'd picked up when she called twice, but hadn't made one themselves. So it's a little surprising when her phone goes off at four in the afternoon. Even more surprising is that the answer to her "Hey, Sam" is a woman asking, "Hello, is this Jody Mills?"

She double checks the number before answering, "Yes, this is she."

"Are you an emergency contact for Sam Smith?"

Again, she says, "Yes."

The woman says she's a nurse at a hospital in Kansas and that Sam Smith was brought in unconscious twenty-fours ago and has yet to wake up. Jody lies and says she's his sister. 

Two hours later she's in the waiting room talking to Dr. Fax. "We think he must have passed out," the woman tells her. "The maid found him unconscious on the floor, hair wet, fully dressed. The man who runs the motel said he looked sick when he checked in."

"Do you have any idea what caused it?"

"A combination of things," she answers. "His blood sugar is abnormally low, but it looks as if he hasn't eaten in a few days, probably due to a stomach bug. He also shows signs of sleep deprivation and recently treated blood poisoning."

Jody nods, tired herself, and wonders where Dean is but doesn't ask and if Sam's gotten any worse in the head region. Last she checked, he had Hell-induced insanity. "Will he wake up?"

"Soon, hopefully. Would you like to see him?"

Though she knows she has no obligations here and she has work early tomorrow morning, she's always had a soft spot for the Winchester boys and the younger one specifically. She agrees, and waits for Sam to wake up.

 

 

Sam sleeping is weird enough, but Sam  _eating_ is practically need for celebration. And Dean's only been out of Purgatory for two weeks. 

When he asks, his brother explains about passing out and how he got bullied into spending a couple of weeks with Jody if he wanted to be signed out AMA. "All she had was organic stuff," he says, checking his phone. "Guess I got used to it."

He almost makes a joke (because he's trying to get back into the habit of being, well, in a world surrounded by humans) about Sam having expensive tastes but stops himself when he realizes that's probably not the best idea. "So, wait, you actually like something?"

Though not as instantaneously as he would've a year ago, he does pick up on the fact that he went a step too far. Oh. "I've always liked stuff," his brother says, sounding hurt even though both of them know it isn't true. Or maybe Sam just hasn't realized that he's not entirely clueless yet. You'd think after nearing thirty years he'd get the point. "Uh, anyway, hear anything from Kevin yet?"

Dean lets the subject be changed and makes a mental note to find another's farmer's market.

 

 

He's walking down a corridor of iron bars and tortured souls and from behind him a voice is screaming, Sam, Sam, Sam!

And he knows it's Jess' voice because even after nine (or four, depending on how you look at it) years he could pick it out of a crowd. But it's not real because it can't be, of course - Jess was sweet, Jess was wonderful, Jess was extraordinarily  _normal_ and never hurt anyone on purpose - because this Hell. Not his Hell, never his Hell because this closer to Dean's and very definitely not Cage, but still, the point remains the same. She should be in Heaven. She's supposed to be with her sister playing soccer in that old court near her house the day after prom with her mom making strawberry smoothies back in the kitchen. 

Then, his own voice - "Tori Spelling, you're a fan!" - and the walls fall away around him, the woman who's been whispering in his ear how she's been waiting for the Boy King to come take her home disappearing and Meg’s being held up by Crowley by the collar of her shirt with an angel sword pressed to her gut (but smiling, half her mouth turned up saying, It's just fake, Sammy baby. Not everyone's as nice as I am) and there's Cas without his vessel, all shifting light and black feathered wings unfurled. 

You have very bad dreams, Sam, he tells him. Let me ease your burden.

His hand is reaching out and Sam is screaming for Dean, for Bobby, for Jess, for Cas and even once for Meg, and two fingers tap his forehead.

 

 

After the seizure and after the first Lucifer sighting in months ends, Dean finally,  _finally_ gets the silent okay that his brother's present enough for physical contact. Now the heat's finally kicked back on and Sam's wrapped up in blankets with coffee. Considering he was something similar to touch-starved in Purgatory, Dean's getting better with all the affectionate...whatever and even before that, getting his hands on his brother after a bad episode just made him feel better. So this is kind of a relief. 

Sam tells him about the fucked up dream - or vision, maybe, whatever - when he had the seizure. About Bobby in Hell and hearing Jess, but Meg telling him it was fake. "They aren't in Hell, okay?" he says because he's the big brother and should always be right even when he's not. "C'mon, Bobby's probably upstairs throwing darts at a board with Dick Roman's face on it in the Roadhouse with Ellen and them." 

He gets a laugh, but it's watery and strained. "Yeah, of course. I know."

"Or, you know, getting a manicure."

This gets his brother to twist away from his hold and straight-up stare. "Excuse me?" he says and Dean explains the embarrassing story with a smile on his face because "soul mates" is a loophole he's willing to exploit.

 

 

As it turns out, the bunker's about a ten minute drive from a possibly the only farmer's market in Kansas. Dean hasn't made anything in a while, but he knows how to follow a recipe well enough and buys as much organic, girly food as he can before anyone notices the card is fake. Then he gets back and makes awesome sandwiches, sending a silent, unheard thank you to the miracle woman Jody Mills.

And Sam likes it. 

Sam  _likes_ it.

He hasn't felt this accomplished in a long time.

 

 

So it was a vision. Sam breaks down when they get home and Dean pretends he knows what he's doing.

 

 

Now that the trials are affecting him more and more, getting Sam to eat is like - what's the expression? - pulling teeth. 

"Three days," Dean says, even though his brother's gone a lot longer. "You haven't eaten in three days."

Most days he doesn't drink either. More than once Dean's had to help him into the shower or just button a shirt, so even if they haven't had sex in a while, he's seen his brother naked more than once, though he spends most of the time bundled in layers. Every rib is visible, flannel makes his arms look a lot more normal than they actually are, and his collar bones poke out. He's fainted. For the first time in years (and this is including during the Apocalypse), Dean can actually pick him up without much of a hassle despite the three inch size difference. To the point he actually carried him to bed.

Sam turns the food down, nearly fights against it and insists nothing will help until he finishes the third trial. Dean knows he's right, but the sound of a new email coming from the laptop is the only thing that stops him from threatening to bring him into a hospital and get one of those liquid food IVs stuck in his arms. It's not like it'd be the first time; food's been an issue for a  _long_ time.

"It's from Charlie," his brother says and all Dean wants is a time machine to bring them back to childhood so he can make this right.

 

 

Even though Meg's dead, tonight she gets a starring role in his dream like her dad used to. They're both leaning against opposite sides of a church doorway, staring up at a meteor shower raining from the sky. He thinks of the lightning storm in Hell and how it's less  _Saw_ for all eternity and more Stalinist Russia. "I'm sorry for not saving you," he tells her because he never saves anyone. 

Yes you do, she says, which is an answer to an unvoiced statement. You saved the world.

"Didn't that technically screw you over?"

She shrugs. A meteor slams into the lake. If the angels are seriously big enough dicks to keep you out of Heaven for the whole antichrist thing, I'll go down to Hell and pull you out myself.

He raises an eyebrow. "Kinda hard to do when you're dead, princess."

Her grin is harsh and hellfire and so completely human all at the same time. So little faith in me? You wound me, Sam. Thought I proved how cute and cuddly I am.

"Fine. You'll save me."

As she reaches out and grabs his sleeve, she says, Guess I haven't revoked your  _Winning London_ tickets after all, bestest friend.

He never gets to see England.

 

 

They give it up and Sam still doesn't eat. One day he shuts down, unresponsive and quiet, and an anti-angel ward they forgot to remove near the door burns itself away. Finally, _finally_ Dean gets him to be honest in the privacy of their own room. He thinks that Kevin must know too and maybe he should bite the bullet and read carefully selected passages that horribly written mess of personal nightmares. 

After the ward thing, Sam says, "It never really went away. I had it when I was a kid too. I just couldn't - can't - control it."

Even without clear cut nouns, Dean still knows he's talking about the whole psychic thing. "I've noticed kind of," he tells him. "You had that vision of Bobby dying, remember? You told me about that. Then the lights thing in the hospital when you were hallucinating. You turned on the heat by yourself. Then, you know, in retrospect, no one should have as many disasters in motels as we did as kids and they always matched up when you had a fight with Dad or had a panic attack or whatnot." Then, after a moment, "Why didn't you tell me?" because that stings a little.

"I didn't notice when I was kid, but I think Dad did," his brother answers. "Then I didn't notice I still had them even with Azazel dead and without the...demon blood until after I, um - the whole killing Lilith thing. The voicemail stopped me from doing anything after that."

Fucking Zachariah. "How often? The dreams, I mean. Probably can't count the other stuff."

"They're pretty rare," he says. "I forgot most until the second trial, but I saw Jess for the first time when I was just kid - like, ten or eleven. Saw Ruby. You dying in the hospital and the hellhounds. Uh, going into Hell, found out you were Michael's vessel, getting thrown in the panic room the first time, stabbing Cas in the back, Bobby getting shot. Actually, I  _met_ Cas when I was like fourteen 'cause he woke me up. Azazel talked to me a lot. Oh, and the angels Falling. Meg said if I went to Hell she'd save me, so that was kind of weird."

He's talking about this so calmly and Dean just feels sick. "So what you're saying is that your head fucking itself over isn't a new thing?" Sam hums affirmative. "Son of a bitch."

Sam gets this pinched, hurt face on that's worse than his puppy dog eyes. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Just for this, I guess," he answers. "Since Dad pawned me off to you, you've had to deal with this as long as I have. Along with everything else."

Neither of them elaborate on "everything else." They hashed that out two weeks ago and Dean remembers when he was still allergic to chick-flick moments and Sam was the one who liked talking. Funny how things change. "There's gotta be something." Because they're already working on one thing and he's always been good at multi-tasking and all he wants is for the brother he fucked up raising to be okay, even if it's thirty years too late. 

But Sam just shakes his head. "It's not like you can cure me and I can't control it. Just sucks. The whole crazy thing makes it a little more common than usual."

He wants to protest but can't, so he forces similar to a smile. "Well, guess we'll have to stock up on light bulbs then, right, Sammy?"

 

 

They stock up on light bulbs, which turns out to be a good thing; a month later Sam's forgotten to eat for a week, is hallucinating Lucifer, and Cas touched him. He managed to explode every light in the library and Dean wonders how deep in denial he was to never notice this before. Kevin walks into the room, looks around, and just sort of sighs, which proves that he knew about it too. 

After his brother wakes up (that was a final push that made him stop breathing and pass out), Dean basically pushes a salad on him because Sam's got more problems than either knows how to deal with and he finally acknowledges that he can't do everything. Not after he's fucked up this much and failed the kid pretty bad - fuck it, you aren't supposed to make the kid you raised feel like he has to die for your approval. At least the medication is starting to even him out again, so as long as he keeps up with taking care of himself (which he doesn't), everything decreases. Dean thinks it's kind of sad that the new qualifications for "Sam being better" include doing more than picking at one or two meals a day, not coughing up blood, and realizing that he actually doesn't suck.

Yeah, it's really hard. But he's survived Hell, Purgatory, the Apocalypse, and a Leviathan invasion so he's pretty sure he can solve this too.

**Author's Note:**

> For a second I felt guilty for making most of my stories have hopefuls ending in case it's getting old. Then I remembered that I've made people cry and now I don't feel as bad.
> 
> By the way, prompts are love. I only have about a month before I can stop writing a story in a day or two.


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